


come back and haunt me

by tosca1390



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Manga)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-25
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This man, this man who is Mamoru but isn’t, is moving swiftly through the levels. Mamoru isn’t this good at the game. He studies; he doesn’t play video games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come back and haunt me

*

 

“Usagi-chan.”

Minako’s voice, flat and somewhat tense, cuts into her. Usagi glances up, pulse thudding hard in her throat. The four of them are all there at the doorway of the arcade, varying levels of horror and disbelief on their faces. Minako’s pen, the alarm for the Sailor V game, is clutched in her hand, her knuckles white.

Usagi looks down at the screen, cheeks reddening. This man, this man who is Mamoru but isn’t, is moving swiftly through the levels. Mamoru isn’t this good at the game. He studies; he doesn’t play video games.

“Oh,” she whispers softly, walking back from his chair. In the reflection of the screen, she can see his gaze follow her.

“Leaving?” he asks, turning in the chair to face her. His mouth curls at the corners, a smirk that doesn’t look right on Mamoru’s face.

“I have to,” she says, fingers plucking at her school skirt nervously. “It was nice—nice to meet you,” she stumbles out, her tongue thick in her mouth.

He’s watching her, gaze intent and very dark. There’s nothing kind or warm behind it; it’s a deep vast blackness. She shivers, gooseflesh sweeping across her bare arms.

His fingers curl around her wrist as she walks away. There is a bite to his grip, a coldness that’s unfamiliar. Usagi glances at the girls; Makoto is two steps from leaping across the room, Ami with a hand on her elbow. Rei’s brow is furrowed, her mouth a thin line. Minako’s knuckles are white, color flushing her cheeks. The breath stuttering in her chest, Usagi flicks her fingers at them, a reassurance.

“Maybe I’ll see you around, then. Usagi, right?” he asks, voice low and smooth.

She looks back at him, her chest faintly cavernous. “Yes,” she murmurs, slipping from his grip and walking quickly across the arcade. The girls tuck her into the middle of their group, moving as one mass; Usagi can still feel his eyes on her, even as they leave.

It only takes a block before Minako stops her, her hands on Usagi’s shoulders. “That wasn’t him,” she says firmly.

“You shouldn’t go back there, not alone,” Makoto adds, a violent sort of set to her mouth.

Usagi shivers and looks down at her shoes. Exhaustion and worry slips into her every nerve and vein. She can still feel the press of his fingers on her skin. _Mamoru_ , she thinks, a hard burn behind her eyes. _What did they do to you?_

“Did he say anything to you? Who he was? What he wanted?” Minako asks.

“Mina-chan, stop,” Ami says softly as Usagi starts to walk again. The tears are there, edging her eyes and threatening to spill, and she can’t—she can’t let them see her cry, not again. Not twice in one day.

“Usagi, I’m serious,” Minako says, voice rising with desperation. The girls hurry behind her; Rei finds her hand with hers, a light reassuring grip. All of them press around her. She’s grateful, but she’s tired and she’s scared and she wants _Mamoru_ back.

“I know,” Usagi says at last. “He didn’t say anything. I don’t know who he is. I won’t go back alone.”

The lie is too easy on her tongue. She thinks she’s done this before, said it before to these girls.

*

In the night, she remembers.

Asleep, she is that lost princess of a lost time, hair silver-blonde. She is softer, a little more grounded; he tries to flirt and charm her first, touches on her wrist and warmth in his eyes, but she is used to that. She wants something more from him, from any of them.

By reflecting pools, where they walk and watch his planet from her gardens, he gives her more.

“I am not a political animal,” he says, his fingertips grazing hers as they walk. Her Senshi circle them in wide arcs; his men stand in a clump at one end of the reflecting pool. “I am a man of action.”

“Then you are in the wrong enterprise,” she says with a smile. Her gown is soft and sleek under her fingers; she plucks at it out of nerves. “The alliance is strictly politics.”

He smiles at her, sly and warm. “There is a reason they sent advisors with me, princess.”

“But you must have an interest. It affects your people, your planet,” she presses. “This is not just a trip to charm me.”

“Would that be so surprising?”

She sighs and slips her hand from his loose grip. A cool breeze shifts through her hair, the vague vacuum of sound familiar. “It would be disappointing.”

Suddenly he is in front of her, blue eyes serious, his mouth a firm line. His hand finds hers once more, warm on her skin. “I would not want to disappoint you, Serenity,” he says, voice low and sincere.

The breath catches in her throat. There is something there, and she likes it—likes him. “It is lucky, then, that your visit is still young,” she says softly.

His smile is small but heart-rending. A blush colors her cheeks, her bare shoulders.

Usagi wakes up with a silent gasp, her fingers tangled in her sheets. The sounds of Tokyo, of Earth, roar in her ears; the wind, the cars, the rustle of trees. In the darkness of her room, with Luna sleeping undisturbed at the foot of her bed, she curls her knees up to her chest and presses her cheek to her knees. Tears slide down her face, soaking into the cotton of her pajamas. Endymion’s smile, it’s _Mamoru’s_ , one she knew was special, and slight. He had given it to _her_ , and now, now—

She has to go back.

*

Two days pass before the girls relax enough for her to slip away without causing a stir. The girls have extracurricular activities and appointments. Luna leaves her alone to meet with Artemis. Naru asks if she wants to go window shopping, but she begs off, and makes her way to the arcade, her heart in her throat.

Of course, he’s there. He waits at the counter, Motoki right near his shoulder. The doors slide open and she walks in with her bag clutched in front of her as a shield. He turns immediately, as if he knows her energy, the sound of her walk. She thinks it will be Mamoru, today; hat the darkness in his gaze and the vast emptiness in his touch and voice was just a fluke, a trick of the light.

It isn’t.

His face doesn’t change as his eyes fall on her. Swallowing, she walks to her usual booth and slides in. Mechanically she pulls out her math text, her notes from class. She does not look over to him. Her mouth is dry, her pulse beating fast at her wrists.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back.”

He slides into the seat across from her. The all-black of his jacket and shirt is stark against his skin. It matches his eyes. She wets her lips, her fingers skimming across her notes. Under her school blouse, the crystal is cold, settled at her sternum. “I’m here,” she says after a beat.

Face even and flat, he watches her. “Where are your friends?”

“Not here,” she says, voice clipped. The urge to touch him, to feel for his heart pushes right at her fingertips, all over her skin.

“That’s a shame. They looked lively.”

 _He knows_ , she thinks, the tips of her fingers going cold. She slides her hands across her notes over and over, a nervous motion.

“What do you want?” she asks after a moment. Her words are hollow, like the space where he used to be in her heart.

He smiles then, the smallest sharpest quirk of his mouth. It fits his face, what she remembers of the prince. The memories tear at her as they sit in silence; everything clicks together in piecemeal fashion, until she can’t separate her life from the princess’s.

Her index finger catches the edge of her papers too quickly; a paper cut slices across the pad of her finger, a sharp sting.

“Watch that,” he says, voice low. His hand curls over his, laying her hand palm-up in his. “You’re bleeding.”

Tears blur her gaze. For a moment, she thinks it’s him, it’s Mamoru—

She swallows and pulls her hand close to her side of the counter, folding her fingers into a fist. Her cut finger throbs with the pressure. “What do you want?” she asks again, voice thin.

He tilts his head to the side, all stillness. Nothing moves him, she thinks. Mamoru is stoic, but she can read him, read his eyes and the depths there. This is not Mamoru.

“You like the Sailor V game, don’t you?” he asks instead. Under the table, his knee touches her.

Her toes curl in her saddle shoes. She shifts, tucks her legs closer to her side. Something crawls under her skin; worry, fear, _longing_. “And?”

“I thought we could play together.” His eyes flash at her, darken even further. “You could show me your tricks.”

“Then what would I have for myself?” she asks.

He smirks then, a cruel lazy curl of his mouth. “I’m certain we could figure something out between us, Usagi.”

Nausea settles low in her stomach. _That’s not what you call me_ , she wants to say.

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of Minako and Rei, walking together in the direction of the arcade. A flush curls up her throat. “I have to go,” she murmurs at last, gathering her books and shoving them into her bag. “Excuse me.”

She’s half-out of the booth when his hand covers hers still on the table, cold and unyielding. “Maybe tomorrow, then,” he says, voice slightly hypnotic.

Blinking, she tugs her hand from his grasp. “Maybe,” she says softly before hurrying out, her hair flying behind her as she picks up speed.

Somehow, she avoids the girls and goes straight home. Luna is still out. Her mother takes one look at her and sends up upstairs. In her mirror, in the relative safety of her bedroom, she touches the dark circles under her eyes, the puffiness there. She wonders if she will ever look as her old self again, whether she will ever feel like herself again.

With the star locket ticking in her hand, she curls up in bed and shuts her eyes. Her paper cut throbs with every beat of her heart. The crystal hangs at her neck, a cold noose.

*

Of course she goes back.

She thinks she’s put it together, slotted it all into place. They’ve taken Mamoru, what made him Mamoru, and replaced him with some sort of puppet. He’s no different than the humans possessed by youma; he is still Mamoru.

Every afternoon that week, she goes to the arcade. She doesn’t care if the girls figure it out, or if Luna gets mad. She sits at the Sailor V console, her heart in her throat and her stomach in knots, and plays methodically. She never gets the highest score she could; he doesn’t need to know that.

He leans across the back of her chair every time, his face close to hers. She breathes in and is cold. Everything about him is precise and cold; he doesn’t even smell like Mamoru, a scent she knows well.

Still, sometimes in a certain light, she thinks she catches him in a moment of panic, of confusion. If she could keep him there, touch him right in that soft place, perhaps—

“You seemed to be better at this, before,” he says one afternoon, derision curling through every word.

“Before when?” she asks, glancing over at him as Sailor V dies onscreen.

He opens his mouth and stops, an odd sort of stutter to his gaze. Her heart skips a beat, her fingers tight on the console. “You knew me. You know me,” she whispers into the open silence. Afternoon sun stretches across the arcade floor, a pale spring yellow. It refracts through the clear glass.

Blinking, he says nothing. She twists in the chair, her face closer than it had been to his in weeks. “Mamoru,” she murmurs, a tentative hand curling over his cold wrist. “Mamo-chan. I know you’re there.”

He rears back, mouth a thin line. “That isn’t my name,” he says. But he sounds unsure, a flicker of something furrowing his brow.

The crystal, heavy at her neck, gives a sudden sort of throb against her skin. She rises and moves towards him. The arcade is sparse with teenagers, a slow sleepy Wednesday. Motoki keeps behind the counter, but his eyes are nearly always in their direction, under the same sort of spell this new Mamoru has tried on her. “Mamo-chan—“

“No,” he snarls, flinching back from her. There is an odd sort of violence in the breadth of his shoulders and the fists at his sides.

Tears prick at her eyes, edging her lashes. Swallowing hard, she picks up her bag and leaves him there standing, staring after her.

*

The girls are waiting on the steps of her house when Usagi comes up the path. They are drawn, and serious, and Usagi knows she is found out.

“My room,” she murmurs to them as she sifts through them to the front door. Her parents are out at a business dinner for her father; she can hear Shingo in the living room, the television blaring.

The five of them pile into her room. Luna sits at the windowsill with Artemis, eyes sad. Usagi can’t sit, not now; she stands near the door as Rei and Minako and Ami arrange themselves on her bed and Makoto paces near her closet.

“Well?” Usagi asks after a moment.

“You have to stop this, Usagi-chan,” Rei says after a moment, her hands settled and still in her lap.

“Why?” Usagi asks. The frustration and the exhaustion of the last few months snap at her nerves, as well as the memories of a life she has no one to share with. “Why should I? I can help him, I—“

“It’s not that simple,” Minako breaks in, her tone brooking no argument. “That person is not Mamoru-san, and he most likely isn’t on our side. You can’t let him get close to you.”

Usagi folds her fingers into her skirt, the fabric wrinkling in her frustration. “So what? Pretend he doesn’t exist? Pretend he isn’t—I could help him,” she bites out, voice reedy as tears thicken in her throat. “I almost had him today, I—“

“No, you didn’t,” Minako says, standing. She is not the bubbly girl they’ve slowly gotten to know now; she is the leader, the enforcement. Strength radiates from her stance. “You didn’t almost have him. He’s manipulating you, Usagi-chan, and he’ll do it until he gets want he wants from you—the crystal.”

“And how is that different from what you did?” Usagi exclaims, the words leaving her mouth before she can quell her tongue.

Minako pales, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. Ami shuts her eyes and looks at her lap. Rei keeps her eyes on Usagi, as always. In the corner, Makoto makes a low sort of growl in her throat and continued to pace the width of the room.

Usagi leans back against the door, rubbing at her eyes. Regret curdles in her middle, making her queasy. “I’m sorry,” she says thickly. “It’s just—you lied, to him, to all of us, and I keep thinking that if it had been different, maybe he’d still be here with us, and not some sort of tool for the enemy.”

“I know,” Minako says softly.

A sound catches in Usagi’s throat, a half-laugh, half-sob. “I keep having these dreams, of the past, and he’s always _there_ , and then I wake up and I go there and he’s—he’s there, and I just—“ she hiccups and lets herself slide to the floor, her skirt pooling at her knees. Her hair gets caught at her arm, her back, and soon she can’t do anything but put her face into her hands. Shoulders shaking, she presses the heels of her hands to her eyes, trying to stifle her tears.

Soon, warm bodies settle around her. Rei’s delicate fingers sift through her hair, as Ami touches her shoulder, and Minako kneels in front of her. Makoto puts a steady arm around her shoulders. Taking a ragged breath, she looks at them in turn. Her chest feels split open, cavernous. She can’t be this person, the weakling, the crier—not now.

“I want to be strong. I do,” she murmurs, wiping her eyes. “But I’m afraid. And I miss him. And I don’t want to lose him again. Not like this.”

“We won’t,” Rei says soothingly.

“We’ve all found each other. This isn’t how it ends, not this time,” Makoto says fiercely.

Minako is watching her cautiously, a nervous tremble to her mouth. “Usagi-chan, I just—“

“It’s okay,” Usagi says, taking Minako’s hand in hers. “I know why you did it, I just—I have a lot of time to think about everything,” she finishes with a weak smile. It’s a truth, a shaky one; she understands, but she feels split apart when she thinks about it, about what could have been if only—

But Minako smiles tremulously, her fingers tangling in Usagi’s, and Usagi can’t bring herself to feel anything but love for all of them.

They sit, the five of them together, on her bedroom floor in silence for a long spell. Usagi shuts her eyes, hyperaware of the cold crystal at her throat, and prays for something; _anything_.

That night, she dreams of the Earth of the past, of lush gardens and secrets and heavy cloaks to cover her hair. He waits for her, holds her, and in her dreams she cries, a delicate and ladylike moment. He is there to comfort her, to settle her.

She wakes up and wipes tears from her face. The star locket lays at its place next to her pillow. When she holds it tightly enough, she thinks she can feel the imprint of his fingers on the cool metal.

*

It’s the next day when he asks about Sailor Moon, Sailor V.

Again, she runs from him, her blood running cold from the look in his eyes. _Minako was right_ , she thinks as she sprints down the sidewalk in the warm spring air, the crystal swinging at her throat. _I don’t have him. Not at all_.

Usagi cannot see through to the end of this, and that frightens her more than any darkness she’s faced so far.

*


End file.
